


A Darker Realm

by revengerloki (castielsfeathers)



Category: Marvel
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, Broken, Death, God of Mischief, Hurt, Infinity War, Marvel Universe, Other, Soul Realm, Soul Stone, Thor - Freeform, life - Freeform, mcu - Freeform, thanos - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 13:46:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17023728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielsfeathers/pseuds/revengerloki
Summary: The Soul Realm isn’t as pleasant as it seems.





	A Darker Realm

**Author's Note:**

> This is following the theory that Loki faked his death at Thanos’ hands, only to turn to dust at the snap.

Unaware how long he had been there had near driven him mad. The soul realm, it wasn’t like what one would think it is. It wasn’t beautiful, it wasn’t peaceful.

It was closer to Hel then it was to Valhalla.

The screams that pierced the still, musty air haunt Loki to this day. The whispers, the cold slimy grasps in the darkness. It drove him shrunken back in the darkest corners where he stayed. He was utterly alone, without an idea who all was there with him. He could hear the others arrive, could hear their own terror, but never could he reach them. All his attempts to find anyone, Thor, the Avengers even, it was useless. Any step he took souls hissed and screamed in pain. It was like he was walking on them, like he was killing them. Loki had never been one to weep, but the tears he shed in that godforsaken place. The torture he had endured from the Titan and his Children years before had been the worst experiences of his life, but he would take a thousand years of it over a day in the soul realm. 

Now set free, along with the others, he hasn’t been the same since. He had once lamented over being no more than a shadow behind Thor, but now all he does is stay behind his brother. He tries to hold his head as high as he always did, but he never lets his brother get more than a step away from him without a quiet whimper of protest, a frozen grasp of desperation on the other’s arm. Maybe this was what he needed to get back in line. 

Or maybe this was what finally broke the God of Mischief.


End file.
